Jimmy paced nervously across the studio, reflecting on the events of the night. Jimmy KNEW and understood the message the ghosts were trying to give him... but he at same time, he didn't feel as though he had done anything horrible enough to merit the fiery bowels of the underworld... and "ghosts"... that was another thing that troubled him. It had been 28 years since Keith Moon died... fewer for Bonzo and Grant, but still long enough to wonder why, after all this time they'd chosen to arise and harass him.

His eyes fell on the decorated Christmas tree in the far corner of the studio, and the spirits' words echoed again in his mind:

"I'm doing you a fucking favor."

"I've been spending the last decade working out a way to get the four of you little snots into paradise."

"There's no bounds to one man's kindness. A word of advice, or a gesture of goodwill can span lifetimes, and influence generations."

"Christmas", he thought subconsciously. "Gifts... generosity... this whole thing is a gift from Peter... from Bonzo... and you don't look a gift horse in the mouth." He sighed. "Especially that of a dead one." He looked in the mirror hanging on the wall and traced the outline of his figure. He studied himself for a long time, taking in each wrinkle and stray hair. Gently pressing his own fingers against the fingers of his reflected self, he said to himself, "Well Page, you're not getting any younger... better shut up and listen, then, hm?"

The mirror suddenly felt much colder than it had a few seconds ago... as though it had turned to ice. Jimmy yanked his hand away and looked deep into the mirror at himself. To his horror, he saw that he was rapidly aging, hair growing finer, skin growing paler and clinging looser to his frame.

He cried out, and backed against the wall, staring down at his own hands... but they hadn't changed at all... it seemed only the reflection was becoming more aged and twisted, and Jimmy watched with macabre fascination. It's clothing transformed as well. The white shirt collar faded to a pale tan, and extended, draping down and covering it's entire body to form a long, frayed robe. It's nearly skeletal hands reached behind and pulled a thick hood over it's face, and when it could morph no more, it bent over and picked up a bright, burning lantern that illuminated the darkness all around it.

Then, the figure began to step out of the mirror and into the room, the sound of the robe dragging against the ground scarring itself into Jimmy's mind, who was trembling something fearsome.

"You're not like the other ones..." he whispered. The figure said nothing. It only drew nearer.

"Y-you're the final spirit then, are you?" Again, the ghost remained silent.

"You're something out of a nightmare... a specter in every sense of the word... will you say NOTHING, then?"

It did not. It reached out it's sickeningly thin hand towards Jimmy and beckoned him forward. He stared down at the hands that had previously been reflections of his own.

"Very well... lead on, ghost of the future."

The spirit pointed forward into a deep, dark shadow of a hallway that had formed itself at the end of the room. Jimmy took a breath and descended down into the hallway. The only light anywhere now came from the lantern in the hand of the specter... the silent specter... who's only sound was the dragging of it's heavy robe across the floor.

Brilliant, dear. I like the way the spectre came out of Jimmy's reflection, if you will. I also like how he's the Stairway To Heaven skeleton, clever! Hah! The line about him being silent but for his ribe was also brill, it really is great. Bravo!

How about keeping in line with the traditional story and talk about Jimmy's death and what happens to the people around him? SOmething like that, I know stories are difficult to write but you've gotten this far! Plough on, your eager fans have faith you'll produce another brilliant chapter.